


Castle in the Pyrenees

by BlackCanine



Series: The Apples Fall Far [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beauxbatons, Gen, Harry Potter Next Generation, Murder Mystery, Slytherin Louis Weasley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-27 23:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16712254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackCanine/pseuds/BlackCanine
Summary: During his year studying abroad at Beauxbatons, Louis Weasley joins a Quidditch team, befriends a werewolf and solves a murder mystery. He is a Weasley and a Delacour, after all.





	Castle in the Pyrenees

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second spin-off on my ongoing Harry Potter's next generation story called _[The Apples Fall Far](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5549447/chapters/12799598)_ , which follows Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy's time at Hogwarts. It is not necessary to read that story to follow this one, but if you are following that story, I **_strongly_** recommend you read [chapter five](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5549447/chapters/39198475) of _The Apples Fall Far_ (which was uploaded today) first so it doesn't spoil your reading.
> 
> I do not own the _Harry Potter_ saga or any of its characters. There is no profit gained from writing or publishing this story.
> 
> Disclaimer about the images: all edits were done with pictures found in Google, none of them belong to me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a palace in the Pyrenean range that not every person can see, where young people pour every autumn from every corner of Western Europe. They say all tongues are spoken within its walls and unspoken magic knowledge is shared there. During his sixth year of magical education, Louis Weasley discovers a handful of such secrets.

The trail on the side of the mountain is barely visible due to the thick layer of snow covering the entire range, and the chilly wind announcing an upcoming blizzard intensifies with every passing minute. The trail snakes through the massif and leads to an ample plateau, hidden between the circle of mountains that surround it like a crown. All the way on the other end, which is miles and miles from where the trail ends, Pic de Maupas’s summit can be seen, towering over the rest of the peaks. The plateau is big enough to accommodate a small city, but it’s entirely deserted and nothing but snow can be seen within its confines.

There’s not a sound to be heard aside from the unforgiving drafts that make snowflakes dance everywhere, until the sudden sound of a train whistle breaks through the frozen air. There are no railroads in sight, but the noise of a train engine approaching is unmistakable.

The whistle booms one more time and a huge silver train emerges out of nowhere, as if escaping from a barrier that made it invisible, and snow-covered railroads appear under it as it advances on the trail. The imposing machine stops on the edge of the plateau, and just as the wheels stop turning, a train station materialises out of thin air and all of a sudden the place is no longer deserted.

Hundreds of men and women clad in pastel blue robes and matching winter cloaks descend the train and assemble just outside the train station. Among them, a lone young man stands out from the crowd, not only due to the dishevelled mane of bright metallic red hair, which sharply contrasts against the sea of white that engulfs him; he’s also one of the very few people in the station not wearing pastel blue.

The train conductor climbs off the silver engine and walks over to the crowd until he’s standing in front of the sea of blue fabric. With his back to the crowd, and facing the imposing sight of Pic de Maupas, the man raises his arms and calls.

“Beauxbatons!” The echo of the man’s voice carries away, bouncing on the mountains around him, creating an eerie but spectacular sound effect.

“Beauxbatons,” the man calls again, “Beauxbatons.”

At the third call, a magnificent palace raises from the snow as if it had been buried underneath, and with it, a massive mass of trees emerges like a wreath around the building. A large courtyard with cobblestone floors appears between the castle and the impressive silver gates that guard the entrance. The rest of the grounds are surrounded by sturdy snow-covered walls. Two rows of statues also sprout from the ground to create a corridor that separate the train station from the silver gates. The conductor walks the aisle followed by the crowd behind him, and one he reaches the silver knocker on the gate, he grabs it and knocks three times. The gates open for him.

The crowd gathered at the gate swiftly makes its way to the castle, leaving the red-haired boy alone in the cobblestone courtyard. Making her way to the entrance, a large, imposing woman with olive skin and short black hair approaches the boy with elegant steps.

“Madame Maxime!” the boy greets, “enchanté de vous rencontrer!” And the tall woman smiles fondly.

“Le plaisir est tout mien, Louis,” she answers. “Bienvenu à Beauxbâtons.”

 

Headmistress Olympe Maxime walks Louis through the pristine halls of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. The interior walls of the palace are all white, decorated with golden cornices. Almost as magnificent as the architecture are the numerous displays of art in every room, hall and corridor, which include exquisitely detailed enchanted portraits, murmuring marble sculptures and impressively huge frescos. Madame Maxime is delighted to see her visitor can’t seem to be able to hide his awe at the master pieces around them.

“Comme c’est majestueux,” Louis breathes at the sight of the sculpture of an Abraxan winged horse standing in the middle of a wide salon flapping its wings as students walk past it.

“Je dois vous dire, ton français est parfait, je vois que Fleur t’a bien appris,” Madame Maxime praises as they make their way through the crowd.

“¡Profesora Maxime!” a female voice calls. The Headmistress and Louis turn around to find a girl with olive skin, brown eyes and long wavy black hair.

“Mademoiselle de Lebrón!” Madame Maxime exclaims delighted at the sight of the girl, “timing parfait, je vous présente notre nouveau étudiant venant de Hogwarts, Louis Weasley.”

The girl offers her hand to Louis, as well as a wide bright smile.

“Encantada de conocerte, Louis. Me llamo Mercedes de Lebrón, pero llámame Meche. Soy la delegada del colegio y voy a ser tu guía durante primeros días en Beauxbatons.”

As the girl introduces herself, the strangest thing happens. Though the girl spoke in Spanish, with a thick Madrilenian accent, Louis could perfectly understand every word she said: _Nice to meet you, Louis. I’m Mercedes de Lebrón, but call me Meche. I’m the school’s Head Girl and I’ll be your guide during your first days at Beauxbatons_. It’s uncanny. As fluent as Louis is in English and French, Spanish is not a language he speaks, and yet … Louis turns to the Headmistress in confusion, but Madame Maxime merely exchanges amused glances with Mercedes.

“The grounds of the school have been spelled with the Babel Charm. It translates everything spoken to a language the listener understands,” Mercedes explains, still in Spanish, but Louis gets it crystal clear, as if every word had been spoken in English.

The effects of the Babel Charm are remarkable, there is no delay, nor overlapping sounds, it’s like the spell simply poured the meaning of Mercedes’s words directly into Louis’s head.

“So … you can get everything I say?” Louis asks Mercedes, the girl just laughs.

“Sí, Louis, entiendo perfectamente,” she says.

“Impressive,” Louis says, stunned, “and nice to meet you too, Mercedes.”

“Meche,” the girl corrects him, “would you like me to show Louis to his dormitory, Professor?”

“Ça serait magnifique,” Madame Maxime says, “Louis, c’est un plaisir que tu sois á Beauxbatons avec nous, j’espère que tu aies un grand an.”

“Merci, la Professeure,” Louis replies as Madame Maxime gives a cordial nod to both of them and walks away.

 

“The school is one of the biggest magic schools in the world,” Mercedes explains Louis as they walk the palace corridors, “aside from France, we get students from Spain, Portugal, Luxembourg, Belgium, Andorra and the Netherlands, which is why the Babel Charm is so useful.”

“It’s certainly bigger than Hogwarts,” Louis confirms, looking around.

“So, what made you come here?” Mercedes asks.

“My mother studied here, she always spoke highly of Beauxbatons, so when I heard of the exchange program between our schools, I decided to sign up,” Louis explains.

“Does it feel weird? Spending five years at a boarding school and moving to another where you don’t know anyone?” Mercedes asks.

“Well, I know at least two people, well, three now,” Louis amends throwing a wink at Mercedes, “I’ve got two cousins here, they’re my aunt’s kids. Hey, maybe you know them, the eldest is a seventh-year, like you.”

“What are their names?” Mercedes asks.

“Béatrice Lacroix, and her brother Mathieu is in his sixth year like me,” Louis replies, “do you know Béatrice?”

For the first time in their conversation, Louis sees Mercedes’s smile falter. It’s just for a second, but he’s certain the name brought certain discomfort on the Head Girl.

“Oh, Béatrice, of course. Yes, she’s in my year. Well I’m glad you’ve got family here,” is all Mercedes says on the subject, “So, tell me, are you excited about classes?”

Louis decides not to dwell too much on the sudden change of subject; instead, he quizzes Mercedes everything he wants to know about life at Beauxbatons. By the time she drops him at the boys’ sleeping quarters, Louis can’t wait for classes to start.

“Here’s were boys sleep,” Mercedes says when they arrive at the end of an ample hall. She points to her left to a large fresco depicting two wizards playing chess that goes from the floor to the tall ceiling, “and us girls sleep over there,” she points to the opposite wall, to an equally large fresco with the image of two witches taming a hippogriff, “your things should be in there already. I’ll see you around!”

Louis watches Mercedes as she disappears behind the painting of the hippogriff-taming witches, then turns around to face the entrance to the boys’ dormitories. Just then he realises he doesn’t know the password.

“Um … I’m new here,” Louis murmurs to the wizards in the painting.

“You don’t need a password,” a female voice says behind him. Louis turns around to find a tall blonde girl with rosy skin and her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

“Béatrice!” Louis says smiling.

“You look so ‘appy to see me,” the girl says as she approaches Louis to wrap him in a hug, “and yet you didn’t come to visit all summer. Maman was devastated.”

“Hey, don’t be like that, I had a lot to get ready for the trip here,” Louis says, “how’s ma tante Gabrielle?”

“You would know, if you ‘ad come to visit,” Béatrice reproaches. “’Ave you seen my brother?”

“Mathieu? No, I haven’t seen him, maybe he’s already inside,” Louis replies pointing at the painting behind him.

“Well, when you see ‘im, tell ‘im I’m looking for ‘im,” Béatrice says.

“Will do,” Louis promises.

“So, did Madame Maxime assign you a guide for your first days?” Béatrice asks.

“Yes, she did. Mercedes de Lebrón,” Louis answers and, unlike Mercedes, his cousin doesn’t bother concealing her distaste.

“Oh,” she says scrunching her nose, “well she _is_ ze ‘Ead Girl. Anyways, you don’t need a password to get to the dorms, as long as you’re a garçon. Same for ze girls’ dormitories. Do not try to get in zere, I know you,” she admonishes sternly.

“Would I ever?” Louis asks, pretending to be scandalised by the question, but his cousin just rolls her eyes.

“Enjoy your stay ‘ere, cousin, I’ll see you around,” Béatrice says as she heads for the girls’ dormitories.

“Your English is getting better, by the way,” Louis says as she walks away.

“’Ope your French isn’t too rusty,” Béatrice says chuckling without turning back.

When he’s left alone, Louis turns again to the fresco and looks up at the wizards playing chess.

“I need to get in,” he says, making one of the wizards huff.

“Well, you couldn’t wait until I made my move, could you?” the wizard says angrily before making the canvas swing back to reveal an entrance. As he walks inside, Louis is pretty sure he hears the other wizard say “Échec.”

The boys’ dormitories consist of a huge common area lit with a huge crystal chandelier, with couches on every wall and large picture windows that look down to the snowy palace grounds. Opposite to the entrance, there’s a very long corridor with doors on every side. Louis heads to the corridor and wonders how he’s supposed to find his room. Just as he does so, a door on his right swings open by itself. Upon closer examination, he can see a piece of parchment attached to the door, with six names handwritten on it.

Pablo Belmonte  
Santiago Carvalho  
Raúl López  
Bastien Saucet  
Iker Vizcarra  
Louis Weasley

Louis walks inside the room and finds the five other boys already inside, all of them sporting friendly smiles.

“Kaixo!” a brown-haired boy says, waving his hand at him, “Iker Vizcarra naiz, Louis izan behar duzu.”

Louis understands that the boy, Iker, is greeting him, though he can’t quite place the language he’s speaking.

“Yes, I’m Louis, nice to meet you,” Louis replies.

“Exchange student from Hogwarts, right?” a boy with brown skin and very short curly hair asks in Spanish before offering his hand to Louis, “My name’s Raúl, Raúl López.”

“What’s Hogwarts like?” a boy with honey-coloured eyes and a buzz cut asks, also in Spanish, “I’m Pablo Belmonte, by the way.”

“And I’m Santiago Carvalho, nice to meet you,” the tall and fit, broad-shouldered boy sitting on the furthest bed says, this one in Portuguese.

“Bastien Saucet,” says the last boy, a slim, sandy-haired teen with milky white skin, “enchanté.”

His five roommates quiz Louis on what Hogwarts is like, why he chose to come to Beauxbatons, what living in Cornwall is like. In turn, they share a bit about themselves with him. Iker Vizcarra turns out to be the kid with highest marks in their year, Santiago plays Quidditch and Raúl is his best friend, Pablo loves drawing and Bastien is superb at Potions.

After they’ve exhausted all questions they can think of, the six roommates decide to go to sleep. As Louis gets under the covers, he can’t help comparing his new room with his usual sleeping quarters at Hogwarts. The Beauxbatons dormitories, with their white walls, large windows and pastel-blue beddings make a stark contrast with the cavernous Slytherin dormitory. The beds don’t have wooden posts or hangings around them. The diamond-paned windows show the palace grounds and the woods around them, instead of the insides of the Great Lake.

For Louis, who’s used to either the quiet rumblings of the Lake at Hogwarts or the sound of the waves at his home in Cornwall, the sound of the wind swooshing outside the window is almost too foreign. But that’s part of what makes this year all the more exciting, Louis reckons, everything is a new experience, even falling asleep.

 

Once classes kick off at Beauxbatons Louis is amazed by the diversity in the school’s student body. Kids from every corner of Western Europe pour into the halls and gardens, carrying with them not only their home language but their customs and culture as well. Bits and pieces of different conversations reach his ears as he heads to breakfast, different languages mixing together, but still made intelligible by the Babel Charm.

“Puis-je copier tes devoirs de Sortilèges lorsque tu les auras finis?”

“Pero cámbiale algo para que no se vea obvio.”

“Wer hat Zaubertränke so früh am Morgen?”

“Are saiatzen duzu Quidditch taldeak aurten?”

 _La Grande Salle_ , where Beauxbatons students gather during every meal, is twice as big as the Great Hall at Hogwarts. With pastel blue walls decorated by numerous portraits ceilings high as a cathedral, the room is lit by four majestic chandeliers that sparkle with what look like diamonds. There are no House tables, but several rows of long tables, divided by an aisle in the middle. The only resemblance with Britain’s school of magic is the large table for the teaching staff by the wall opposite to the main entrance.

The room is bubbling with activity, and it takes Louis some time navigating the tables to locate Mercedes, who’s saving a seat for him.

“Did you find your way here alright?” she asks him when he sits.

“It will take me some time to learn my way through this maze,” Louis answers, making Mercedes chuckle.

“You’ll get a hang of it,” she promises him, “so, it’s time to work on your schedule. I was appointed to help you with that. What classes are you taking?”

“Um … whatever classes you’re offering, I guess?” Louis replies unsurely.

“You took your O.W.L.s last year, right? Do you have your results with you?”

“Yes,” Louis says, rummaging through his backpack to retrieve a piece of parchment and hand it to Mercedes.

“Let’s see … ‘Acceptable’ in Astronomy … ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in Charms, Herbology, Potions, Muggle Studies, Care of Magical Creatures and Study of Ancient Runes … ‘Outstanding’ in Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic. Not bad,” says Mercedes as she reads, “well, you’ll have to take any class you want to keep taking when you return to Hogwarts next year.”

“That would be all of them except Muggle Studies and Astronomy,” Louis replies.

“I see … there are still two empty slots in your schedule, so you may want to try some of the classes you don’t get at Hogwarts. We’ve got Alchemy, which is compulsory for everyone starting third-year, and we’ve got some electives like Wandlore and Logomancy.”

“Logomancy?” Louis asks intrigued.

“The study of the magic of words,” Mercedes explains, “how spells are created and how some words can be used as incantations and some others can’t. In the advanced lessons you get to create your own spells.”

“Wow, that sounds great,” Louis says.

“We start taking our electives in third year as well, so if you want any of those, you’ll need to take them with third-years if you want to keep up.”

“I kinda want all three of them,” Louis says, “I mean, I’m already here.”

“I think we can fit them all in your schedule somehow,” Mercedes muses, “though you know, you’ll be taking B.Â.C.L.É.S. level lessons too, so it might be too much.”

“B.Â.C.L.É.S.?” Louis asks.

“Oh, those would be our N.E.W.T.s, B.Â.C.L.É.S. stands for _Brevet d’Âme Cassée par des Longues Études de Sorcellerie, Soul-Crushingly Extensive Wizarding Studies Certificate_.”

“Sounds scary,” Louis grimaces.

“Scarier than ‘ _Nastily Exhausting_ Wizarding Tests?”

“A lot scarier. I don’t want to know what you guys have instead of O.W.L.s.”

“The D.É.N.E.R.V.É.S.: _Diplôme d’Études des Notions Essentielles, Réellement Vitales et Élémentaires de Sorcellerie_ , Essential, Really Vital and Elementary Wizarding Studies Diploma.”

“What’s scary there is the redundancy,” Louis laughs.

“We like our redundancies here,” Mercedes shrugs, “anyways, I’m sure we can fit all three electives in here,” she adds, tapping repeatedly with her wand on a blank schedule, which had words on it scrambling from one column to the other. “Putting schedules together is worse than solving a Sudoku, I swear. Now I know why Headmistress Maxime left me in charge of yours … alright, here you go. Looks a bit crammed, but hey, at least you’ve got Friday’s last period free.”

Mercedes hands Louis his freshly assembled time table, which looks almost scarily crammed, with a solitary free period at the end of Friday, but Louis doesn’t feel like missing out on anything. He reckons he’ll have a lighter schedule when he returns to Hogwarts.

“ _Métamorphose_ … _Potions_ … _Botanique Magique_ … then lunch … _Défense contre les Forces du Mal_ … _Alchimie_ … _Sortilèges_ ,” Louis reads on the Monday column.

“You better get going now, you start the day with Metamorphosis and Professor Schmetterling doesn’t tolerate unpunctuality,” Mercedes tells him.

“Where …?”

“You take the stairs outside the _Grande Salle_ , to the fifth floor, third door on the right,” Mercedes says.

“Good. Thank you, see you around,” Louis says.

“Good luck!” Mercedes wishes him.

 

Louis wonders if N.E.W.T. level classes at Hogwarts are as hard as B.Â.C.L.É.S. lessons at Beauxbatons, but sixth year is certainly a notch or two tougher than his previous years of magical education. Just as Mercedes told him, Professor Schmetterling is as strict as they come. With his short, grey hair, severe eyes and both hands perched on the handle of his walking stick, he eyes the room like a hawk as he has everyone in the class try transfiguring things non-verbally for the first time. A few students try to cheat by discreetly moving their lips to get their apples to turn into pears, but are surprised to find the Belgian teacher has casted a potent Silencing Charm over the classroom.

Next is Potions, taught by a Calaisien professor called Meurdesoif, a decrepit wizard in old-fashioned worn-out brown robes with greying hair tied in a pony-tail that has them started on the Draught of the Living Dead.

Louis shares a work station with Iker Vizcarra, who’s sitting next to a girl that, even when clad in Beauxbatons’ pastel blue uniform robes, can’t be bothered to hide her punk style with her black hair pulled up in two buns and two streaks of violet hair falling over her face.

“Are you the exchange student?” she asks, “I’m Zoé Trefle-Picques.”

“Louis Weasley.”

“Your hair is so shiny,” Zoé tells him.

“My great-grandmother was a veela, I guess that’s why it looks metallic,” Louis replies.

“I like it,” Zoé decides.

Between powdering root of asphodel and crushing sopophorous beans Louis learns that Iker and Zoé have been best friends since they arrived at Beauxbatons. Zoé comes from a very old wizarding family from Dijon, while Iker is muggle-born and one of the few students that come from the Basque Country.

Both of them are together with Louis in Magical Botany, and Zoé laughs loudly when a Venomous Tentacula whips Iker’s forearm, making him let out an embarrassing squeal. The slim good-natured professor, Sylvie Sauveterre, wordlessly summons a small bottle of a healing salve and instructs Iker to apply it on his wound.

During lunch, Iker and Zoé take Louis to meet the rest of their group, which includes two more of Louis’s roommates: Raúl López and Santiago Carvalho. The rest are Lucas Hendrickx, from Belgium, who shares Louis’s mischievous, easy-going nature, and Danièle Steichen, a blonde happy-go-lucky girl from Luxembourg, who laughs at the wink Louis throws in her direction when they’re introduced and promptly calls him a flirt boy.

Santiago and Raúl, Louis learns pretty soon, are the school’s resident troublemakers, the former being cocky and smart-mouthed and the latter being absolutely wild and shameless. They’re both in Louis’s Defence Against the Dark Arts class or, as it is called at Beauxbatons, Defence Against the Forces of Evil.

“You’re gonna love that class,” Santiago tells Louis, “Professor Fleuret used to be a master duellist in Luxembourg before coming here. He’s even taught us a bit of hand-to-hand magical combat.”

The classroom for the class is a wide circular room with wooden floors and several black standing dummies scattered all over it. Professor Ludovic Fleuret lives up to his reputation informing them they’ll devote the first portion of the term to learning the spells to subdue a transformed werewolf. A murmur of excitement runs through the entire class.

“Before we do that, can somebody please tell me how to tell apart a wolf from a werewolf?” the professor asks, “yes, Bastien.”

“Werewolves have shorter snout than actual wolves, and their eyes look more human. Their tail is also tufted,” Bastien Saucet answers.

“Very good, Bastien. But of course, the real difference is their behaviour: true wolves do not attack unless hungry or provoked, while a werewolf will always be a danger to humans and humans only. Unless, of course, they have ingested the Wolfsbane Potion,” Professor Fleuret explains, “now, what spells can we actually use to take down a werewolf once it has transformed?”

“The Killing Curse?” Bastien suggests.

“Well, yes, they are not immune to it, but considering there’s a human being in there, that would be murder,” Professor Fleuret replies.

“But it’s self-defence,” Bastien argues.

“There are other ways to subdue a werewolf and keep it at bay until the full moon sets, any ideas? Yes, Iker.”

“Stunning Spells?” Iker ventures.

“Yes, but it takes more than one, so unless you have the time to fire multiple Stunners or have someone else with you, it is not the most effective method.”

“Full Body-Bind Curse?” Louis suggests.

“How about trapping him?” Santiago asks at the same time, “like putting them inside some sort of protective field they can’t get out of.”

“Yes and yes, both are good alternatives. A Full Body-Bind Curse would render the werewolf immobile, while a protection field of sorts could keep it from harming anybody until the transformation ends,” Professor Fleuret agrees, “now I’m going to teach you a new spell. This one is very much like a Stunner, but with much more force behind it. It should be able to knock a werewolf unconscious long enough for the moon to leave the sky.”

The professor taps his wand against the blackboard behind him and a single word appears on it: _Obtundo_. Next to it, a curved arrow appears signalling the wand movement for the spell.

“That is the Knockout Spell,” Professor Fleuret tells the class, “I must stress this: _do not_ attempt this spell on a person. It packs the strength of four Stunning Spells. You could render someone unconscious for several days with one of these, and it can even be lethal on weaker individuals. On a transformed werewolf, though, it should have the same effect a Stunner would on humans. We’re going to practice it on the dummies now. They’ve been enchanted to withstand Stunners, but if you cast the Knockout Spell correctly, they should be knocked over.”

The spell is harder to perform than a regular Stunner, and has everyone sweating and blowing their hair out of their foreheads halfway through the class. Santiago seems to be having fun with the spell, but Raúl struggles, stammering the incantation nervously and scratching the back of his neck when Professor Fleuret corrects him. For his part, Bastien looks determined to get it right.

Louis gets a hang of the spell shortly before the class is over, and is left panting and dishevelled by the time he must run to the other side of the palace for his Alchemy class.

Alchemy is taught by Professor Orfèvres, a kind witch in her forties that wears her slightly greying hair in a messy bun. Louis feels somewhat out of place taking the class with third-years, but does his best to follow as the professor lists the subject’s basic concepts.

Louis is reunited with his fellow sixth-years for Charms on his final period, and the day ends pretty much the way it started: with everyone in the room attempting to perform a non-verbal spell, this time to summon and repel small silver goblets. Louis begins to realise non-verbal magic is not his strong suit when the furthest he’s capable of moving his goblet is by knocking it over with his wand and sending it rolling across the table. The girl sitting next to him, though, doesn’t seem to struggle as much, as she silently directs the cup back to Louis’s hands. The girl, a black student with delicate features and a mischievous glint in her eyes, looks at Louis through the strands of hair that fall over her face and winks at him.

“Merci,” Louis says.

“De rien,” the girl says with a grin, “I’m Violette Bonaccord, by the way.”

“Louis Weasley,” Louis replies, turning on the most charming smile on his repertoire, “you’re good at this.” Violette only laughs at him and shakes her head, before turning her attention back to her own goblet.

“I try,” she shrugs smugly, silently making her goblet glide across the table just as their teacher, Professor Philomène Fadeau, walks by their table to inspect their work.

 

Louis collapses on his bed the second he walks inside his room.

“I’m dead,” he says to Pablo Belmonte, the only other boy in the room, who was lounging on his bed reading a Quidditch magazine when Louis entered.

“I hear you’re taking every class under the sun,” Pablo tells him, “it’s no surprise you are.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Louis mutters against his pillow, before lifting his head and turning to Pablo, “I didn’t see you in any of my classes today.”

“It’s a big school, bigger than Hogwarts, I reckon,” Pablo shrugs, “it’s not uncommon not to coincide with your roommates in any class.”

“That explains why I haven’t seen my cousin,” Louis replies, “I thought I’d have seen him by now.”

“Who’s your cousin?” Pablo asks.

“Mathieu Lacroix,” Louis answers.

“Oh, yes, yes, Mathieu, great bloke, great Quidditch player. I haven’t seen him either,” Pablo says.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Louis shrugs.

 

Louis realises he may have signed up for too many classes when he meets five new teachers the following day. Tuesday begins with History of Magic, which is happily not taught by a ghost, but by a very old wizard, Professor Acharat, who manages to keep the class interested in the events concerning Gellert Grindelwald’s raise to power in the twentieth century, and who was apparently alive during the first giant wars.

“How is that even possible?” Louis asks Santiago.

“He was friend’s with Nicolas Flamel, you know, the one who figured out how to make the Philosopher’s Stone. Flamel gave him some of his Elixir of Life, it appears,” Santiago explains.

“How old is he?” Louis asks surprised.

“Six, seven hundred? Who knows,” Santiago shrugs.

“But Nicolas Flamel is dead,” Louis says as he and Santiago make their way to Charms after the class is over, “how come Acharat isn’t?”

“He must’ve had more Elixir on stock than Flamel had,” Santiago shrugs, “or maybe he drinks from the fountain on the courtyard.”

“The fountain?” Louis asks.

“You know, the big one by the entrance, it has healing and beautifying properties. It’s not a proper Elixir of Life but, who knows, maybe it strengthens the effect of the Elixir? Professor Acharat certainly looks energetic.”

“It could be,” Louis agrees.

 

Louis and Pablo coincide in their Magizoology class, the Beauxbatons equivalent of Care of Magical Creatures. The class is taken by the edge of the woods that surround the palace, which are called _les Bois Dormants_ , or the Sleeping Woods, and the lesson kicks off with a first-hand encounter with a runespoor. The three-headed venomous snake is expertly handled by their teacher, a husky-looking wizard named Bernard Leboeuf, who throws a dead racoon at the rightmost head.

“If any of you is a Parselmouth, you should have no problem dealing with this fella. For the rest of us, it’s a bit trickier,” Professor Leboeuf tells the class, “the left head is the planner, the middle head is the dreamer and the right head is the critic. The latter’s fangs are very venomous so don’t provoke it. Now, who can tell me why this creature is an endangered species?”

“Their eggs are used in mind-stimulating potions,” Danièle Steichen answers.

“Very good, Miss Steichen. Now, I’ve fed the poisonous head, who wants to try feeding the other two?” Professor Leboeuf asks. Several students take a step back, but Santiago and Bastien throw their hands up in the air immediately. After a second of hesitation, Louis does the same too.

“I don’t know you, do I?” Professor Leboeuf asks Louis.

“I’m Louis Weasley, I’m from Hogwarts,” Louis explains.

“Oh, yes, yes, the exchange student, glad to have you here,” Leboeuf says, “how’s Hagrid doing? He visits often, he’s great with our Abraxan winged horses.”

“He’s doing great, Professor. He had us working with thestrals last year,” Louis answers.

“I’d say the middle head is about as tame as one of those, so why don’t you try feeding that one?” Leboeuf says, throwing a dead racoon at Louis’s hand. The runespoor eyes it hungrily.

“Okay, here we go,” Louis murmurs to himself as he approaches the runespoor and tosses the racoon at the runespoor’s middle head. The orange and black serpent catches it happily.

“I think she likes you,” Leboeuf notes merrily.

 

Louis’s final two classes are the ones he’s the most excited about, even if he has to take them with third-years again. Wandlore is the only subject taught by a teacher who wasn’t educated at Beauxbatons: Professor Maksimilian Matveyev is a Saint Petersburgian wand expert who graduated from Koldovstoretz, Russia’s wizarding school. When he starts listing the most commonly used wand woods, several thirteen-year-olds immediately ask if it’s true that elder wands are unbeatable. Louis, knowing a bit of the history behind the famous Elder Wand, tries not to roll his eyes.

Logomancy is by far the strangest class Louis has ever taken, mostly due to the teacher in charge: Professor Montferrat, an incredibly old and short wizard who, despite his age, talks very lively in broken sentences made up of words from various languages, which often makes the Babel Charm short-circuit in the classroom.

Louis is very much intrigued by the old professor, but nobody seems to know much about him.

“Nobody knows where he comes from or what language he originally spoke,” Bastien tells Louis as they practise the Knock Out Charm during Professor Fleuret’s class the following day. The classroom is once again filled with black dragon hide dummies and the class is scattered across the room trying to knock them over.

“He’s hard to follow some times,” Louis admits, “ _Obtundo_!” The dummy he’s practising on is sent flying across the room.

“And it gets harder,” Bastien says, “how are classes with the third-years anyways?”

“They’re alright, I guess,” Louis shrugs as he sets his dummy back in its place and brushes away the strands of hair that have fallen on his forehead, “but I still feel like a repeating student or something,” he adds, making Bastien laugh.

“So, what did you do when you were not attending class at Hogwarts?” Bastien asks him a few seconds later, before casting the Knock Out Charm with particularly vicious force.

“I wrote for the school’s newspaper,” Louis says, “the international news section.”

“Hogwarts has a newspaper?” Bastien asks surprised.

“It’s still very new. This will be it’s fourth year running.”

“Still, impressive. Alright, what else? Quidditch?”

“I didn’t play for my House but I never missed a game,” Louis replies.

“But do you play?” asks a voice to Louis’s right. It’s Santiago, who’s practising a few feet away from them next to a disgruntled-looking Raúl.

“I’m good at chasing,” Louis shrugs, “or at least I am when I play with my family.”

“I play Seeker,” Santiago grins, “every year we have a tournament. Any student can sign up their team during the first weeks of September, our team won last year and we’re aiming for the Cup again. In fact, we have a position open, you could join us if you’re interested.”

 

By Santiago’s insistence Louis ends up signing up for the Quidditch team. The team includes Santiago as the Captain, Pablo and Danièle, along with two other sixth-years named Cátia Gonçalves and Rogier Klaassen, as well as a seventh-year girl named Inés Montoya. The team is called _les Loups Légendaires_ , the Legendary Wolves, and Louis is given the position of Chaser.

“It used to be Mathieu’s position,” Pablo informs him as they make their way to the edge of the woods for their Magizoology class, “but he didn’t sign up this time so we had an open spot.”

“My cousin Mathieu?” Louis asks surprised.

“Yeah, he’s never missed a game since we formed the team in our second year, but this time he didn’t sign up,” Pablo elaborates.

“Why didn’t he?” Louis wonders.

“I don’t know,” Pablo replies, “I haven’t really spoken to him.”

“Now that you mention, neither have I. If I hadn’t talked to him on the train here, I’d even think he didn’t come to school at all,” Louis muses.

“I’m sure he’s in here somewhere,” Pablo reassures him, “this is a really big school.” They arrive at entrance hall of the chateau, where a tall girl with a long mane of black hair is making her way through the crowd, with her bag levitating behind her.

“I’ll catch up with you in a second, mate,” Louis tells Pablo, who notices where his attention has gone to and chuckles shaking his head.

“Go ahead, man, we’ve still got a few minutes before our class begins.”

Pablo walks out to the courtyard as Louis follows the girl to one of the hallways.

“Hey, Violette, comment ça va?” Louis asks the girl, who gives him a sidelong glance with a raised eyebrow.

“Ça va très bien,” is all Violette says as they both make a turn, Violette’s bag following closely behind.

“Still rocking non-verbal Charms I see,” Louis says, pointing with his head to the enchanted bag, “maybe you could give me a hand with those someday.” Violette giggles at Louis’s words.

“Or maybe we could —” Louis begins before being interrupted by a voice behind him.

“Get your hands off my girlfriend, Weasley.” Louis turns to find Danièle Steichen standing behind them with her hands crossed over her chest. Her voice sounded serious but her lips are curved up in a smile. “I knew you were a flirt boy,” Danièle continues. Louis sputters.

“She’s your girlfriend?” he asks after gaping like a fish a couple of times.

“Yes, she is,” Danièle replies, walking over to Violette and kissing her on the cheek, then Violette turns to cast a smug glance at Louis.

“Well, you two are very lucky girls,” Louis says at last, “and I’m a very devastated boy.” Danièle laughs.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you’re heartbroken beyond repair,” she mocks, as Louis places both his hands over his heart and grimaces pretending to be hurt.

“I should go to class now,” Louis says.

“That you do. I’ll be down there with you after I take _my_ girlfriend to class. See you in a few minutes, flirt boy,” Danièle tells him, before linking her hands with Violette and walking away with her, both girls giggling as they go.

 

Since Quidditch teams at Beauxbatons come and go as generations pass, there are no long-standing rivalries as there are at Hogwarts. However, as the teams are more numerous, the tournament is longer and a lot more gruelling, even including a group stage.

“We’re going up against the Mountain Martens first, then the Incredible Chamois and finally the Brawling Ibexes,” Santiago explains to the team gathered around a table in the courtyard as he points at the names written on the tournament draw: _Martres des Montagnes_ , _Isards Incroyables_ , _Bouquetins Bagarreurs_. “On the other side of the chart, our rivals since second-year, the Pyrenean Peacocks,” he adds as his finger lands on the words “ _Paons Pyrénéens_ ” written on the parchment.

“We’ve been winning one, losing one against them since the two teams were formed,” Danièle tells Louis.

“And it’s a strong team, sure to make it to the quarter-finals. But before even thinking about playing against them we need to focus on making it out of the group stage,” Santiago declares.

“But come on, we know the Martens are easy to beat,” Rogier Klaassen intervenes.

“We’ve still got to try out some of our plays with Louis, make sure he, Inés and Danièle have them down pat,” Santiago points out.

 

Louis can finally relate to his cousin Albus and his boyfriend Scorpius when it came to balancing schoolwork with Quidditch training. It’s about as exhausting as they said it was, and Santiago wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to make sure he integrated well with the other two Chasers.

Albus and Scorpius send him tons of advice as well as their excited congratulations in a joint letter they wrote him after he gave them the news of joining a Quidditch team. Louis thanks them for it but still mocks them for already behaving like a married couple.

During the team’s first practise, Louis tries several different formations with Danièle and Inés, and attempts to get past Cátia Gonçalves’ goalkeeping skills, while Pablo and Rogier Klaassen train with their bats against a pair of Bludgers, and Santiago practises catching a Snitch.

As it turns out, Louis has pretty good reflexes and is good at intercepting passes and stealing the Quaffle, but his aim is in need of serious improvement, as only about a fourth of the shots he took actually went through the goalposts. The fact that he could catch a Quaffle meant for Danièle and zigzag all the way to the opposite side of the pitch, dodging two Bludgers aimed at him but managed to fail a clear shot never ceased to amuse his fellow Chasers, particularly Inés.

“That is impossible!” she laughs after the Quaffle goes between two of the goalposts while Cátia Gonçalves barely lifts a finger to block the shot. “You did the hardest part.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Louis replies, honestly quite amused with his bad aim as well.

“Looks like we’ll have to modify our strategy a bit,” Santiago says, “Louis will be in charge of getting the Quaffle while you two girls will seal the deal. Let’s see what formations work better to that effect.”

After a bit of brainstorming and trial and error, they come up with a few plays that can put Louis’s reflexes, Danièle’s speed and Inés’s aim to good use. They actually manage to take Cátia by surprise a couple of times.

 

As fun as his first practise was, by the end of the evening Louis feels like passing out.

“I’m starting to miss my quiet newspaper-writing life,” he mumbles against his mattress to nobody in particular when he gets to his room the night of their first practise.

“Santiago is quite the slave driver, isn’t he?” Bastien asks startling Louis.

“Uh?” Louis asks confused as he looks up. He hadn’t even bothered checking if there was anyone else with him in the room before throwing himself face-first on the bed. Bastien is sitting on his own bed, his back against the headboard and a potions book open in his hands. “Oh, yeah, he’s a tough captain.”

“He wants the Cup again this year. The Wolves and the Peacocks have faced each other on the finals on three out of the four years they’ve played. The Peacocks won two years ago, then the Wolves won last year. It’s quite the competition they’ve got going.”

“So I’ve heard,” Louis says, “and it shows that they’ve been playing together for a long time, Danièle and Inés almost read each other’s minds. They said it was that way with Mathieu too, I wonder why he didn’t sign up this year.”

“You haven’t asked him?” Bastien asks.

“I haven’t seen him. I’m actually starting to get worried, it’s been almost a month and I haven’t seen his face once,” Louis replies concerned.

“I wouldn’t worry. It’s a big school,” Bastien shrugs.

 

As tiring as it is with all his classes workload, Quidditch does give Louis something to look forward to every week. With enough practice he manages to get his aim to an at least passable level, all while creating good synergy with Danièle and Inés.

Danièle is always cheerful, no matter how gruelling the training of the day is, and when her girlfriend Violette shows up to watch her from the stands, she absolutely beams, soaring through the air and making complicated pirouettes as she scores, not minding when Louis mocks her for being a show-off. Inés, on the other hand, is rather reserved. She rolls her plait in a bun before mounting her broom and her head is completely into the game until the moment she touches the ground again, when she undoes the bun and un-braids the plait, shaking her head so her dark brown hair falls messily over her face. The kind of focus she shows while on the broom absolutely intrigues Louis.

“Damn, you were amazing today,” Louis tells her one day after practise when she doesn’t miss a single shot to the goalposts, “you’re going to be such a menace when you go pro.”

“Who says I’m planning to go pro?” Inés asks with a raised eyebrow.

“You aren’t?” Louis asks surprised, “I just thought, with skills like those …”

“I don’t know,” Inés shrugs as they continue making their way to the locker rooms, “a lot of people tell me I could if I wanted to, but I’m not sure that’s my scene. I’m into having a quiet live, you see, sounds hard if you’re a professional Quidditch player.”

“Yeah, I see your point, I suppose,” Louis replies thoughtfully, “what do you want to be, then?”

“Oh, no,” Inés snorts, “I have enough with teachers grilling me about that and reminding me I’m in seventh year and I’m supposed to know what to do with my life, I don’t more of that.” Louis snorts.

“Seventeen does seem an awfully young age to be supposed to know anything about anything,” he agrees.

“I know, right?”

“Well, no more talk about the far future, then. Let’s talk about next Saturday: ready to absolutely kill it against the Martens?”

“That, I am,” Inés smiles confidently, “ _we_ are definitely going to kill it.”

“Fancy doing something after the game?” Louis asks with a sly grin, “maybe get a butterbeer or something?” Inés rises her eyebrow again at that question.

“Are you asking me out?” she asks incredulously.

“I am,” Louis grins, making Inés giggle.

“I’m going to have to pass,” Inés says.

“Ouch,” Louis says, placing a hand over his heart as Inés heads for the girls’ locker rooms.

“See you at practise, Louis,” she says before disappearing through the door.

  

Things don’t change after Inés decline Louis’s invitation. They still make a good team, along with Danièle, and by the time the day of the game rolls by, Louis has integrated solidly to the team’s playing dynamics, even if he does get distracted at times when Inés lands a particularly dexterous shot.

The tournament begins the final Saturday of September, with the Incredible Chamois facing the Brawling Ibexes, immediately followed by the Wolves and the Mountain Martens. That morning Louis wakes up to find a Broomstick Servicing Kit owled to him by Albus and Scorpius as a good-luck gift for his first game. Albus also included two large pieces of cauldron cake and a note saying “Athletes need their fuel. ;)”, with a scratched out “Don’t listen to him!!!!” at the bottom. Louis chuckles and gets ready for breakfast. The presents from his friends put him in an excellent mood for his very first Quidditch game outside the Burrow.

The Quidditch pitch behind the palace is bigger than the one at Hogwarts, as it is meant to house a much larger crowd. The noise inside is deafening when Louis steps out of the locker rooms, following the rest of his team to the centre of the pitch.

“Mesdames et messieurs, soyez bienvenus au deuxième match du tournoi de Quidditch de Beauxbatons de cette année! Je suis Arnaud Duvillard et dans quelques minutes les Martres des Montagnes feront face aux champions en titre : les Loups Légendaires !” a voice announces from a megaphone and the crowd goes insane at the mention of the reigning champions.

At the referee’s command, the tall and thin-as-a-twig teacher in charge of the Flying lessons named Avelina Vento, all fourteen players mount their brooms and take off.

“Et c’est parti. Coline Fourcade des Martres a la Souafle, elle lance à Frédéric Midol, qui fait une passe pour Pol Terra mais il est intercepté par Inés Montoya des Loups Légendaires !”

The crowd cheers at Inés’s interception. Inés flies past an opposing Chaser and throws almost blindly to her left, where Danièle is already waiting for her pass. A well-aimed Bludger makes her lose her grip and a broad-shouldered player named Pol Terra catches the Quaffle. He throws it at the Chaser to his left but the ball is quickly intercepted by Louis. He flies past the opposing players and zigzags all the way to the end of the pitch. He raises his arm holding the Quaffle in the air. It looks like he’s going to take a shot but in the last second he lets the ball drop and lands it right on Inés’s hands, who was waiting for his pass. Inés makes a quick ascent and throws the ball right through the middle hoop, much to the Keeper’s shock, who is powerless to stop the shot.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Louis hollers with his fist in the air. Inés flies past him and winks in his direction.

The strategy seems to work. Louis gets his hands on the Quaffle at every opportunity he gets, then lets Inés and Danièle seal the deal, as Santiago had put it, with a more than acceptable success rate.

It doesn’t mean the Martens don’t give as good as they get: not long after every goal the Wolves score, the Martens score one of their own. It goes on that way until the commentator turns the audience’s attention towards the race between Santiago and the Marten’s Seeker, a girl with long auburn hair named Katrien Peeters. They both have spotted the Snitch and are speeding towards it as fast as they can. A Bludger is sent Santiago’s way but Louis thinks fast and flies right into the heavy black ball, sending both him and the Bludger off their courses.

Louis’s broom spins out of control after the impact, making him slide off it. The crowd gasps as he hangs from the handle thirty feet from the ground. Using whatever strength he has left, and tapping into the years of experience he had climbing branches of tall trees with his cousins at the Burrow, he manages to get back on the broom, but the broom is still too unstable after colliding with the Bludger and it spins down out of control.

“Louis!” he can hear Danièle scream but there is nothing he can do to stop the broom’s descent. He crashes on the ground right after he hears Professor Vento blowing the whistle signalling the end of the game.

 

He wakes up in the hospital wing with a killer headache and every muscle screaming in pain. Around his bed, all the team has assembled and it seems like they were waiting for him to wake up.

“Nice to see you awake, man,” Santiago greets him with a warm smile.

“What happened?” Louis croaks.

“You went kamikaze on a Bludger aimed at Santiago,” Danièle explains, “then lost control of your broom and fell to the ground.”

“Made us win the game, though,” Santiago shrugs, “if it hadn’t been for you, Katrien would’ve caught the Snitch.”

“Is that how Quidditch is played at Hogwarts?” Pablo asks, “because if that’s the case, I think you could give the Japanese’s brutal training methods a run for their money.”

“I don’t really know what came over me, it was mostly instinct, I think,” Louis mumbles.

“Well, your instincts made us win the game. However, next time try not to collide into any flying cannonball, alright?” Santiago jokes.

“How long have I been here?” Louis asks. The headache has decreased a lot since he woke up, Louis suspects a big dose of painkilling potion may be responsible for that.

“Almost a full day,” Pablo replies, “you hit your head and broke some bones, but Madame Bryone managed to fix that in an instant, she said we only had to let you sleep it off.”

“And now that you’re awake, we just have to wait for her to discharge you and we can go celebrate,” Danièle grins.

“Celebrate? Where?” Louis asks curiously. Back at Hogwarts post-game celebrations were held at the winner’s common room, but considering there are no Houses at Beauxbatons, he doesn’t know what celebratory traditions apply.

“On weekends we can go to the nearby village. It’s a completely magical settlement and they sell some of the best butterbeers you’ll try in your life,” Santiago explains.

“And you think I’m being let out today?” Louis asks incredulous.

“I’m pretty sure you’ll be allowed to leave, but you may not be able to drink butterbeer since it interferes with your potions,” Santiago shrugs.

At that moment an old hefty woman dressed in navy blue robes with a high starched collar, a peaked hat and an apron enters the hospital wing and takes an apprising look at Louis.

“Ah, if it is our suicide flyer,” she says gravely, “good to see you’ve woken up. How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Louis replies, his voice still a tad hoarse.

“It is expected after the fall you sustained, but the potions I gave you should have you back to full health in no time. I’m Madame Bryone by the way, the school Matron.”

“Louis Weasley,” Louis says.

“Nice to meet you properly, Louis. It’s not every day that you get to see the British style of flying first-hand,” Madame Bryone says.

“Will Louis be discharged today, Madame Bryone?” Santiago asks.

“Ah, you want to go celebrating as soon as possible, I see,” Madame Bryone replies before taking an assessing look at Louis, “well, I suppose you can leave, but don’t even think of taking a sip of butterbeer, unless you want it to react with your potions and be drugged out of your mind until next Sunday.”

“I won’t drink a drop, I promise,” Louis assures her.

“Very well, then. Let’s get you off that bed, shall we?” Madame Bryone smiles.

After giving Louis one more dose of his prescribed potions, Madame Bryone leaves to tend to the other patients in the hospital wing. Despite having slept for the better part of an entire day, or maybe because of it, Louis feels bursting with energy and gets off the bed as soon as he’s cleared.

“So what is this village you were talking about?” he asks.

“It’s right on the other side of the trail that goes around the Sleeping Woods,” Danièle explains, “we usually go there after a game, but we decided to wait for you to wake up so you could join us.”

“Don’t I need a permission slip or anything?” Louis inquires.

“Only third and fourth-years do,” Santiago informs him, “and they can only visit the town during scheduled school trips, whereas fifth-years and on can go to the village every weekend.”

“Awesome!” Louis exclaims.

“Ok, so let’s get going then,” Santiago says and beckons the rest of the team to follow him.

“Sorry I have to bail, guys, but I have this essay for tomorrow that I can’t keep postponing any longer,” Inés says.

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Louis asks, “we can’t celebrate without the top scorer of the game.”

“She always does that,” Danièle says rolling her eyes, “she’s not the celebrating type.”

“Come on, just one pint, I’ll help you finish your essay,” Louis presses.

“You’re going to help me finish a five-hundred-word essay on Logomancy?” Inés asks incredulous raising an eyebrow.

“Well …” Louis starts, deflating a little, “I can offer loads of moral support.”

“Cute,” Inés giggles, “but I’ll have to pass. Have fun guys!” And with that she’s gone, leaving the rest of the team gathered outside the hospital wing.

“Happens every time,” Danièle sighs shaking her head, “come on, let’s get moving.”

 

The nearby town, just on the other side of the Sleeping Woods, is called Farpuntets. It’s a small settlement on top of the confined, narrow, flat area of one of the peaks in the mountain range. From the distance, the space on which Farpuntets stands looks so cramped that the town seems to be standing on its tiptoes to avoid toppling over.

The houses have blue and grey gable roofs and are, along with the diamond paned windows that line the walls, almost completely covered in snow. To Louis, Farpuntets looks like a snow globe. Although small, the quaint village has a fair variety of shops, including a wand shop, a music shop, a post office and even a couple of inns.

The team takes Louis to a pub named Tèsta o Crotz, where a considerable part of the Beauxbatons population has gathered. It’s not too different from The Three Broomsticks in terms of crowd and ambience and it makes Louis feel right at home. The team minus Inés finds a table next to a window and orders a constant flow of butterbeer to their table, as well as some pumpkin juice for Louis.

“It was a great game,” Danièle says to the rest of the table, as she sips contently on her butterbeer.

“It really was,” Santiago agrees, “and we’ve gotta give it to our incredible team of Chasers, you did an amazing job, it didn’t even look like it was our first time playing with Louis.”

“Not to mention Louis’s dive that made sure you caught the Snitch,” Cátia Gonçalves adds, “don’t scare us like that again.”

“What made you do that?” Raúl, who had joined the team to celebrate, asks, sounding a mixture between curious and concerned.

“I don’t really know,” Louis admits, “I’m not usually that reckless when I play at home, it must’ve been the adrenaline. I just saw the opportunity to win the game and …”

“Oh, I see,” Rogier Klaassen laughs, “I’ve heard about the Slytherin House; they like to win.”

“That we do,” Louis laughs.

“Well, don’t do it again,” Danièle admonishes him, “it scared us halfway to death.”

“I’ll keep the crashing against Bludgers to a minimum, I promise,” Louis says.

“You better,” Cátia replies, “you, Danièle and Inés make a good team and it would suck to see it break apart because you kamikazed again.”

“You do make a good team,” Santiago agrees, “you three found a way to capitalize on your specific talents to score as much as possible.”

“I wish Inés had come to celebrate with us,” Danièle says wistfully.

“Why didn’t she?” Louis asks.

“She’s pretty reserved, and likes to keep to herself. She focuses on Quidditch and classes and not much more,” Santiago explains.

“But we love her like that,” Cátia says, “which reminds me, I’m picking up some candy from the candy shop for her before we get back.”

After a few more rounds of butterbeer they leave the pub and give Louis a tour around Farpuntets, and take him to Pipòt de Sucre, the local candy shop where Louis buys a large stock of Chocolate Frogs, which include a French edition of cards, and a bag of assorted Floating Macarons he almost completely devours on his way back to the palace.

 

As the weeks pass by the weather in Beauxbatons becomes colder, and the crowns of the trees are covered with snow. As he walks by the edge of the woods one morning, Louis sees the Sleeping Woods’ name isn’t gratuitous: the forest is quiet and not even the chirp of birds can be heard, almost as if the entire place were frozen in time. There is a lake between the woods and the back of the palace, often called the Glass Lake, _le Lac en Verre_ , whose surface is frozen most of the year, crystalline ice reflecting the sunlight with a kaleidoscopic effect during the day, but with a known magical fauna population living underneath. As Louis makes his way deeper into the mass of trees, he is caught off guard by an unfamiliar hissing sound coming from the trees, followed by the noise of teeth chomping on flesh. Curious, Louis follows the sound to the clearing where their Magizoology lessons take place, and sees a hooded figure tossing dead racoons to one of Professor Leboeuf’s runespoors, all while emitting the weird noise that Louis heard.

A twig accidentally snapping under Louis’s shoes alerts the person under the hood, who turns around in shock at the noise.

“Inés?” Louis asks when he recognises the girl with olive skin and wide brown eyes under the hood. Inés lets out an unconvincing sigh of relief.

“Louis! You scared me,” she says with a nervous laugh before picking another dead racoon from the bucket at her feet and tossing it in the runespoor’s direction.

“What are you doing here?” Louis asks.

“Feeding the runespoors,” Inés replies, stating the obvious, “Professor Leboeuf lets me do it from time to time.”

“You’re one of the few people I’ve met who aren’t scared of them,” Louis notes.

“They’re actually very amicable,” Inés says, “though the right head likes to pretend otherwise.”

The rightmost head of the snake starts hissing in displeasure at Inés’s words. The sound it makes is a lot like the one that attracted Louis to the clearing, but the pitch is slightly different. What he heard sounded less beastly, maybe even somewhat human. His eyes widen when realisation hits him.

“Were you speaking to the runespoor a minute ago?” Louis asks. The panicked look on Inés’s face is all the answer he needs, “Merlin, you’re a Parselmouth!”

“What?! Of course I’m not!” Inés barks angrily, “and don’t go saying that.”

“Hey, I don’t care,” Louis says, rising both hands in the air, “it’s not like I’m prejudiced or something.”

Inés studies him for a long moment before huffing and turning back to feed the runespoor.

“Well, you’d be the first,” she sighs annoyed, “people usually run the other way when they learn I speak Parseltongue.”

“What, they think you’re into dark arts or something?” Louis inquires.

“The fact that the first wizard to hatch a basilisk was a Parselmouth doesn’t exactly help,” Inés sulks, “or You-Know-Who.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard someone calling Voldemort You-Know-Who,” Louis notes, visibly startling Inés.

“I didn’t think it wise to be so blasé about using that name,” Inés admits, “might add fuel to the idea that Parselmouths are into dark magic.”

“Well, I think that’s rubbish. Anyone who thinks Parselmouths are automatically evil are idiots. I mean, my uncle was a Parselmouth,” Louis says, but Inés merely raises an eyebrow.

“If by your uncle you mean Harry Potter, he doesn’t count,” she tells him, “he’s stated publicly that he can’t speak Parseltongue anymore, not since he defeated You-Know — Voldemort … which was a bit discouraging for us Parselmouths everywhere.”

“Hadn’t thought of it that way,” Louis admits, “so nobody here knows?”

“Professor Leboeuf does, that’s why he lets me tend to the runespoors, and now you. After some of the reactions I got from some relatives back home I learnt to keep it to myself,” Inés answers.

“Is that why you don’t socialise that much?” Louis asks bluntly, “like, is that why you didn’t stick around to celebrate after we won the game the other day.”

“I try to keep others from finding out,” Inés says, “my grandmother was a Parselmouth too. She used to tell me people inevitably learn your secrets if they get too close.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to go on a date with me?” Louis asks and Inés rolls her eyes amused, but doesn’t answer.

“Because, I don’t mind, I don’t mind at all. And I’m not telling anyone either,” Louis goes on. The runespoor’s heads start hissing loudly, the middle one in particular looks like it’s trying to nudge Inés.

“What are they’re saying?” Louis asks, and Inés turns to the runespoor to hiss at it in annoyance.

“Nothing,” Inés says at last, causing the middle head of the runespoor to nib her shoulder playfully.

“I don’t believe you,” Louis says.

“Well, I don’t care, I’m not telling you.”

“You know what I think? I think they’re telling you to go on a date with me,” Louis says as he approaches Inés with a mischievous smirk. Inés laughs.

“No, they’re not. They’re telling me I shouldn’t let guys with freckles and cute smiles fool me,” Inés replies.

“So the runespoor thinks I’ve got a cute smile?” Louis asks amusedly, “or do you?”

The runespoor starts hissing loudly again, the middle head actually head-butts Inés to push her towards Louis.

“I don’t think you’ve got a cute smile,” Inés declares crossing her arms, “pretty unattractive if you ask me.” This time the rightmost head emits a sound that sounds a lot like an incredulous huff.

“Alright, but would you go on a date with me and my incredibly hideous smile?” Louis asks again, grinning widely. Inés studies him for a moment before finally huffing and dropping her arms to the sides.

“Fine, one date,” she tells him, “but it better be a good one or I’m setting the runespoor on you.”

Louis beams at her before crouching to grab a dead racoon from the bucket.

“What are you doing?” Inés asks.

“Well, it certainly sounds like I have to win this little guy over, so why not start now?” Louis smirks before tossing a racoon at the runespoor’s right head.

 

“So, what can you do for a date around here?” Louis asks Pablo later that evening as he plops down on the pile of dry leaves where the other boy is sitting with his back against a wide tree. Pablo’s got a parchment sketchbook on his knees and is busy drawing the scene before him with a piece of charcoal. The sun is about to set and as it hides behind the clouds and the turrets of the palace it creates a breath-taking kaleidoscopic effect. Truly a sight to behold.

“You don’t waste your time, do you?” Pablo teases without taking his eyes off the parchment, “well, there’s a nice bistro in Farpuntets.”

“Is it nice?” Louis asks.

“Good food, quiet atmosphere, low lighting; pretty romantic if you ask me,” Pablo shrugs, “plus, the Périgord walnut cake is delicious, and so are the crystallised violets. Who are you taking?” At Louis’s wink, Pablo laughs.

“It’s Inés, isn’t it?” Pablo guesses, then laughs again, “you’ve been smitten with her since you joined the Quidditch team.”

“What can I say, there’s something about her,” Louis tells him with a dreamy smile.

“She doesn’t talk much during practise, she likes to keep to herself, mostly, but she is a great girl,” Pablo notes.

“That she is,” Louis agrees, “what are you working on?” he then asks curiously peeking over Pablo’s sketchbook.

“The palace,” is all the other boy says, turning his sketch so Louis can look at it properly. On the parchment, Pablo has drawn the palace exactly as it can be seen from the angle where they are sitting. The grounds and the Glass Lake are visible beneath the construction, with an almost photographic depiction of the setting sun. Even made out of charcoal, the drawing looks uncannily realistic.

“It’s beautiful,” Louis exhales, mesmerised.

“Thanks,” Pablo blushes, “I’ve been coming here at the same time for the past two weeks, trying to capture the lighting just right,” he adds.

“You captured it alright,” Louis agrees, “this is brilliant!”

“Thank you,” Pablo says again.

“Been drawing long?” Louis asks.

“Since I started at Beauxbatons,” Pablo explains, “my dad gave me a sketchbook as a going-away present. My first days here in a country I didn’t know it was my only companion. Then Raúl and Santiago kind of adopted me, buy I still filled that first sketchbook pretty fast. I haven’t stopped since.”

“You’ve gotten pretty good at it,” Louis says.

“It’s just a hobby,” Pablo shrugs as he runs the piece of charcoal over the clouds he just drew, “I like to draw Beauxbatons, I think drawing it makes it feel more like my home. I know it’s impossible, but one day I’d like to say I’ve drawn every nook and cranny of it.”

“It might take you a while,” Louis concedes.

“I have found some interesting places while looking for a good place to draw, though,” Pablo says, “I think I’ve finished, what do you think?” he asks as he holds the drawing for Louis to see. The palace looks simply breath-taking.

“Brilliant,” Louis repeats; Pablo beams.

 

“So, what do you have planned for your date this weekend?” Zoé asks Louis during their double Potions session on Thursdays. They’re working on an Elixir to Induce Euphoria, which has the entire class struggling trying to figure out the exact amount of peppermint they need to add to counteract the potion’s side-effects, without it being so excessive that the whole cauldron blows up.

“We’re going to this place Pablo suggested, Le Flòc de Nèu,” Louis replies, carefully measuring his porcupine quills on his scale.

“Oh, that place is so great!” Zoé gushes, “it’s nice and quiet and the atmosphere is pretty romantic. It’s an amazing place for a first date.”

“And most importantly, the food is delicious,” Iker intervenes. Just then a loud explosion is heard at the back from the classroom. Louis, Zoé and Iker turn to find the backmost work stations completely covered with a cloud of silvery white smoke, which is slowly expanding and making students cough with the spicy smell of peppermint.

With a flick of his wand, Professor Meurdesoif clears the smoke away, revealing the origin of the explosion. At one of the work stations, Bastien is nursing severe burns on his forearms, which he used to protect himself from the blast. His cauldron, however, is not the one that looks like a volcano just erupted inside it.

“Whose potion was this?” Professor Meurdesoif asks enraged, “who left this potion unattended?”

Everyone’s eyes are directed to the opposite end of the room, where a perplexed Santiago is standing, carrying a bunch of Shrivelfigs in his hands.

“The steps said to let it simmer,” Santiago mumbles weekly, “I just went to get more Shrivelfigs for the final steps.”

“Detention!” Professor Meurdesoif barks, “you could’ve killed your classmate with your recklessness. Somebody take Mr. Saucet to the hospital wing.”

 

Lunchtime is a quiet affair that day. Santiago looks incredibly distressed by the accident but even more so looks his friend Raúl, who looks downright miserable.

“I really don’t know what happened, I didn’t even add that much peppermint in the first place,” Santiago mumbles dejectedly.

“It could’ve happened to any of us,” Zoé assures him, “Meurdesoif was unfair giving you an entire week of detention.”

“He’s right that I could’ve killed someone, Bastien got lucky,” Santiago mutters. Raúl puts a comforting hand on his best mate’s shoulder, and they both share despaired looks before turning their attention back to their meals.

 

The weekend arrives and Louis can barely wait for his date with Inés. He’s applying hair-slickening potion on his hair when Santiago emerges from their shared bathroom dressed with protective clothes.

“Detention?” Louis asks.

“Yeah, Professor Meurdesoif’s detentions are always in the evenings and take forever, he basically has you restocking and cleaning the supply cupboard as well as the classroom. And Potions Club is on Saturdays and they always make a mess, so I’ll be there a looooong time.”

“Damn. I’ll make sure never to screw up a potion in his class,” Louis shudders.

“Don’t you forget it,” Santiago agrees, “I better get going. Good luck on your date,” he adds as he heads to the door.

 

Le Flòc de Nèu is a quiet little place on the edge of Farpuntets. Unlike Madame Puddifoot’s Teashop, Hogsmeade’s popular dating spot, the bistro’s décor is not tacky nor frilly, but sober while still retaining a charming old-fashioned attractiveness. The place smells sweet without being sickening, the wooden tables and booths are appropriately apart to give the patrons a sense of privacy and small luminous spheres hover above them to bathe them in a soft light.

“Le Flòc de Nèu, huh?” Inés asks when they step inside the small bistro.

“Heard good things about it, but we can go somewhere else if you want,” Louis shrugs.

“Here’s fine,” Inés smiles.

They take a seat at a table next to a window, where they can see the first snowflakes of the evening falling outside. Not for the first time, Louis is reminded of a giant snow-globe, and he says as much to Inés.

“Not so different from home, I suppose?” Inés inquires.

“We have snow, and it’s not so different from Hogsmeade, I suppose. Everything here just has a different air to it. I guess there’s something about being far away from home that makes it all look more picturesque.”

“I know what you mean,” Inés agrees.

“Are you far from home as well?” Louis asks. Inés snorts.

“I’m from Malaga, in sunny Andalusia in the southern region of Spain. You can definitely say I’m far from home.”

“Was it hard?”

“Leaving everything I knew at the age of eleven and moving to a different country to study magic?” she chuckles, “yes and no. It was scary, but also very exciting. It certainly made me more independent, but I suppose that’s the same for everyone attending a boarding school,” she shrugs. “What about you? Was it hard to come here after going to Hogwarts for so long?”

“It’s been pretty exciting so far. Tried new things, learnt a lot, met some pretty incredible people,” Louis replies with a wink and a sly grin.

“You’re such a flirt,” Inés laughs; Louis shrugs.

A young witch with a messy bun arrives at that moment with the menus and the promise to come back and take their order.

“Thank you,” Louis tells the with. “So, what is good here? I was told the crystallised violets are good but I wouldn’t know.”

“They’re a good dessert,” Inés concedes, “but if you want the full Pyrenean experience, you must try the cassoulet,” Inés recommends.

The flavourful dish of white beans, goose, pork and pork rind is exactly what Louis orders, and he shares a tray of assorted cheeses with Inés.

“So, tell me about sunny Andalusia,” Louis prompts between bites.

“Pretty much the opposite to the weather in the Pyrenees,” Inés says, “warm, bordering on arid, with a beach to die for. Have you ever been to Spain?”

“Just once, but to a small town in La Rioja. There’s this train that goes through various wizarding villages scattered throughout Europe, I took the trip with my family two years ago.”

“You should visit Malaga sometime. I live in Faroalba, a small wizarding settling by the beach, but there’s also a small forest where you can find all sorts magical creatures there.”

“Do you miss it?” Louis asks.

“Sometimes. It’s hard to when everything is so magical here. Plus, the Babel Charm helps everyone not to feel uprooted.”

Only then does Louis notice the Babel Charm is also active over Farpuntets; he’s gotten so used to it, he hadn’t even realised he and Inés had been holding a conversation in two different languages the entire time. From the way Inés laughs, the surprise on his face must be obvious.

“You had forgotten, had you?” she laughs, “it happens all the time.”

“Sometimes I don’t even know what language I’m speaking anymore,” Louis admits with a chuckle.

“Do you speak anything other than English?” Inés asks curiously.

“French. My mother is from Montpellier, she taught me French.”

“Oh, really? Did she attend Beauxbatons?”

“She did. Actually, the rest of my family on my mother’s side still lives in France. Mathieu and Béatrice Lacroix are my cousins.”

“Right! I remember hearing Santiago say you were Mathieu’s cousin when you joined the Quidditch team. Why isn’t he playing this year anyway?”

“I wish I knew. I haven’t talked to him since the train dropped us at the palace,” Louis replies with a frown, “everybody tells me it’s normal not to run into someone for days in this big school, but it’s been over a month and I haven’t heard from him.”

“That’s strange,” Inés notes, “it _is_ a big school, but you must’ve seen him somewhere it the boy’s dormitories, right?”

“That’s what I thought, but so far nothing, and nobody seems to have seen him,” Louis says, “I’m definitely knocking on his door when we get home tonight.”

“You do that,” Inés agrees.

The witch with the messy bun reappears to offer them dessert. They order the crystallised violets, which are as delicious as Louis was promised, and discuss the highlights of their previous Quidditch game.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Louis asks in a quiet voice.

“Tell me.”

“Is the reason you don’t want to go pro that you …”

“Speak Parseltongue?” Inés finishes for him, making Louis shrug apologetically, “yes, it’s part of it. I don’t know how long I could keep it a secret if I lived in the public eye.”

“You shouldn’t let that stop you,” Louis says, “you’re a brilliant Chaser. People are not as prejudiced as they used to be, and hey, who says you can’t keep it a secret if you chose to?”

“A lot of people have insisted I go pro; you are the first I tell why I’m not so eager to do it. I’m not sure I agree with you but I’ll think about it. I’ve still got time,” Inés replies after giving Louis’s words some thought.

They leave the bistro shortly after that. They take a walk around Farpuntets, Inés pointing to the most prominent attractions in the sleepy town, and by the time they make it back to the palace, it’s far past their curfew.

“We’re so in trouble,” Inés laughs eying the full moon hanging high in the sky as they tiptoe their way to the dormitories.

“At Hogwarts I was a master at sneaking though the castle, but I think I need to explore Beauxbatons more to be as good at it here,” Louis giggles.

“This way,” Inés says as she pulls Louis to a deserted corridor, which proves to be a bad idea when a voice behind them stops them.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

They turn around to find Mercedes de Lebrón staring at them with a stern look and her arms crossed.

“Meche!” Inés exclaims in surprise.

“It’s past bedtime,” Mercedes says calmly.

“It’s my fault,” Louis says, “we lost track of time at Farpuntets and only just realised how late it was.”

Only then does Mercedes notice Louis and Inés’s linked hands. She doesn’t look impressed.

“I’m happy you had a nice evening but that is not an excuse. I will let it slide just this once, but if it happens again, I will have to give you both detention,” she tells the pair.

“Thank you, Meche,” Inés says gratefully.

“Yes, really, you’re the best,” Louis agrees.

“Just go to your dorms already, come on, I’ll walk you,” Mercedes beckons them to the stairs exasperated.

The three of them just turn around a corner when they find themselves face to face with Professor Montferrat, the impossibly old Logomancy teacher. The small professor fixes them with an eerie vacant stare as he stands in silence in the middle of the hall.

“Professor!” Mercedes gasps, well aware of the trouble they’re in, “we were just …”

The explanation never makes it past her lips, as Professor Montferrat’s voice booms in the hallway with a surprising strength for a man his age.

“Protegite!” the old man calls out, raising his open palm to eye level, pointing it at Louis, Inés and Mercedes, “Watch out for the sanguinário monstro who cometh in futurum to gnaw your anima! Death est super nos!  Pray the bon sorcier come to liberar nos a malo de tutte le bestie! Ha, ha, you like this magicae de lobisomens et ilusões! Et anco jois m’es dois e placer m’es dolors… Cave il monstro! Semper lying in wait for me in some angulum to snap at my heels. But Salvatore is not stupidus! Bonum palácio, et qui si abat os tiranos. And the is not worth merda. Et amen. No?”

After his speech is over, the old professor walks calmly past Louis, Inés and Mercedes, as if they weren’t even in the hallway. The trio observes dumbfounded as Montferrat calmly drags his feet along the hall, the sound of of his steps disappearing as he rounds a corner.

“¿Qué rayos fue eso?” Inés asks stupefied.

“Cada que ese profesor habla, nunca tengo idea de qué dice,” Mercedes replies.

“What are you two saying?” Louis asks confused, his eyes widening when he realises why he can’t understand a word the girls are saying. “The Babel Charm …”

It’s not the first time he’s seen it happening, during Professor Montferrat’s lectures the Babel Charm is often disrupted to the point students can no longer communicate with each other. The effect usually lasts only a few seconds, but it’s usually enough to frustrate teenagers used to the immediate translation the Babel Charm provides. Now, due to the darkness of the corridor and the eeriness of their encounter with the old professor, the effect is much more disturbing.

“Is it working again?” Inés asks in Spanish but Louis gets the meaning of her words immediately.

“I think it is,” he says.

“That always gives me the creeps,” Mercedes says with a shudder. “Anyways, we should all go to bed. I’m spooked enough to try to forget this even happened. Don’t let me catch you out past curfew again.”

“We won’t, I promise,” Louis assures her.

“Thanks, Meche,” Inés adds.

“Come on, let’s get moving,” Mercedes says. Just then a bone chilling scream is heard booming through the walls of the palace.

“What the hell was that?” Inés asks, as the sounds of dozens of steps are heard on the floor above them. The three of them rush to the stairs and find the corridors flooded with students that came out of the dormitories to find the source of the noise.

“Go back to your beds, go back to your beds!” Louis hears Madame Maxime bellow. He turns around and sees the large imposing woman making her way through the crowd.

“What is going on here?” Madame Maxime asks.

“P — Professor,” a girl says, approaching the headmistress. Louis recognises the girl, she’s one of the sixth year prefects. She’s usually light-spirited and joyful, but now her lip is trembling and her face is shining with freshly shed tears. “I — I was making my rounds when I found him,” the girl says.

“Find whom?” Maxime inquires. The girl merely points with a shaky hand to one of the classrooms in the corridor. Maxime makes her way to the door, the sea of students opening for her. When she reaches the threshold she brings a hand to her mouth and gasps. “Sacre sorcier!”

After a moment of silence, during which the students gathered in the corridor try to crane their necks so they can see past the headmistress’ towering body, Madame Maxime takes a deep breath and orders to nobody in particular, “somebody get Madame Bryone.”

People scramble to heed her request. Madame Maxime steps inside the classroom giving Louis, Inés and Mercedes a clear view of what’s inside. When he sees what’s on the other side of the door, Louis’s mouth hangs open but no sound comes out.

There, on one of the chairs, lies Pablo Belmonte’s body. His eyes are wide with terror and his mouth is open in a silent scream. His flesh and clothes are torn apart and his blood is splattered all over floor tiles and the turned over chairs, some of it even made it to the walls.

Louis can sense Inés and Mercedes are shaking as much as he is. His eyes are showing him something, but he can’t bring himself to believe it. “N — no, no …” He mutters, just as a familiar voice speaks behind him.

“Pablo?” Danièle asks with a shaky voice, “Pablo? NO!” Her shriek is deafening but Louis barely registers it. All his world has narrowed to the fear-stricken expression of Pablo’s wide open eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> There it is. I hope you liked this start. I know not many people may be interested in a Next Gen story featuring a character that wasn't even mentioned in the books, but I hope that if you did click on it and read it, that you enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Also, if anyone can tell me the novel I _heavily_ referenced in the ending of this chapter, I'm rewarding you with an HP ficlet with the prompt you give me. ;)
> 
> One more thing: I do not speak, of course, every single language portrayed in this story. If you have any feedback about a mistranslation, please, feel free to correct me. :D


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